Easy Like Sunday Mornings

This is from an assignment I've been given to write. The prompt was: 7 stanzas, 4 lines in each, 17 syllables in each line. Write about your favorite place.

This is my real life, and a different side of my writing I have discovered... The name "Mack" has been changed, but fits the ideal I've found.

Talking about our days, holding palms, reading desires. Good and bad.

It’s always good by the time I’m here with my Mack- no inhibitions.

Yawning, sprawled, outstretched on my stomach; his hands calming, soothing my back.

I never want him to stop, he knows it’s my favorite thing in the world.

Eventually, he craves comfort, my care, and his head finds my shoulder.

I stroke his hair, fingers woven in the velvet buzz resting on me.

Drowsy, his cells and mind make a safe cocoon to grow our lives, our love.

Fading in and out, I want to remember this blurred unconsciousness.

Did I fall asleep first? Drowning in the sea of covers and my Mack.

I’m now wrapped up in his arms; that’s the last thing I always remember.

Intertwined with him and the downy cloud-like gray-and-white comforter.

The smell of clean cotton, fan overhead wafting out fear and unknown.

He wisps away the stray tendril across my face, and kisses my cheek.

Later, he’ll tell me I drift into lifelessness wearing a smile.

Softly, as everything is about Mack, gentle love inspires me.

I sigh, comforted by my luck of sleeping with compassion near me.

Episodes of dreams later, Mack rises to watch me meet the daylight.

He is dressed and draws the curtains for me. “Sloanie,” he whispers closely.

Engulfed in the swarm of sheets up to my neck, I smile, eyes still closed.

A sweet forehead kiss lingers. Another grin from my heart’s deep corners.

I hear in his voice tenderness, that adoring tone sewn in my chest.

I wake up, eye lashes shielding me from the suddenness of daybreak.

Shadows between blinds flee from jungle trees in our second story view.

The morning glow dances across rustled sheets, golden beams fill dark space.

Sweet, iced, blonde with cream, and always in a red mug; careful not to spill.

Coffee in bed, a bribe to awaken. Why do I need convincing?

Mack- he’s honest, safe, pure and calm- here to stir my spirit’s desires.

My favorite place is where dreams unfold in wild tales and days begin.

#poetry #home #love